


Hope is a Thing with Scutes

by shealynn88



Category: Travelers (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, Heroin, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Oops, Positive ending, consider the turtle's name an AU aspect, handjobs, s1 e7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:27:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26345581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shealynn88/pseuds/shealynn88
Summary: After events of S1 E7: Protocol 5, Trevor helps Philip while he's trying to wean himself off heroin.
Relationships: Trevor Holden | Traveler 0115/Philip Pearson | Traveler 3326
Comments: 11
Kudos: 48





	Hope is a Thing with Scutes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [all-or-nothing-baby (BundleOfSoy)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BundleOfSoy/gifts).



Trevor slides his hand along Philip’s shoulder as he walks by, easy. 

Philip thinks about the kit in the bathroom, feels the sweat starting to bead on his face. 

“I like the turtle. Red-eared slider?”

Philip nods, trying not to think about how much he needs another hit. 

“What did you name her?”

Philip laughs, something a little manic. “I forgot I was supposed to.”

“My friend has a dog named Otis,” Trevor muses, wandering through the garage and trailing his fingers everywhere. It’s making Philip crazy.

“Well, not really a friend,” Trevor says, almost to himself. “I don’t like him much. But the dog is pretty great.”

“Emily, maybe,” Philip says under his breath. 

_Hope is the thing with feathers…_

Trevor makes his way back behind Philip and then leans in to peer through the glass, hand heavy on Philip’s shoulder. The weight makes him sweat more, makes him want to squirm away, makes him _need_. 

God, he really needs a hit. 

Trevor walks away again, heads for the bathroom, and Philip sighs in relief, unclenches his fists. His hands are shaking. 

“Emily,” Philip says softly. “This might not be the best place for you,” he says. He wonders what he can say to Trevor to make him leave. 

Trevor comes back out and Philip feels the sweat starting to pour down his back now. Trevor is holding his kit, opening it up on the other side of the desk. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Philip can’t quite keep the fear out of his voice. He needs that. They all understand now, don’t they? _Fuck._. “I don’t have that for fun, you know, I need it to function.”

Trevor shrugs and then grins up at him, that crooked smile that Philip is just getting used to. 

Trevor cooks the hit easily, pulls it up with a new syringe and comes around the desk with the needle and tourniquet. 

Philip swallows as Trevor moves in, crowds him until he rolls back and his chair hits the edge of the desk. 

“Sometimes,” Trevor says easily as he stands over Philip’s lap and rolls up his sleeve, “I find it hard to separate who my host was from who I am. Everyone expects me to be him—this angry kid who won’t apply himself, who disappoints. _But_ ,” he places the tourniquet with a snap of rubber, scrubs the marked up line of skin at Philip’s elbow with alcohol. 

When Trevor looks up he’s really close, practically in Philip’s lap, close enough to see the color of his eyes, the scar in his eyebrow. “I’m not him. Even though I still have his concussion. Even though I’m in this body that gets excited every time there’s a stiff breeze. Even though I sometimes want to rage out so much I can taste it—that’s not me. That’s him. That’s the body.”

Finally he takes the needle and presses it into Philip’s skin. It’s so small Philip barely feels the bite. He’s so strung out he craves it. 

Trevor releases the tourniquet and Philip feels the rush, the calm, come over him. 

“There’s no shame in what we were. There’s nothing wrong with needing this, Philip.”

He sets everything aside but stays there, hovering over Philip, brushing against him, leaning forward. 

Philip blinks slowly. 

“I only gave you four. I know you might need more, but let’s try this, first.”

Philip nods, can’t seem to stop, not until Trevor holds his head steady, hands splayed, branding, against his clammy cheeks, smoothing the sweat that is still beading along his hairline. 

“What’s the point?” Philip asks. He’s not even sure what he’s asking, but the world feels dark more often than not these days. 

“The point? It’s this. Your life. Your mission. Your team.”

Philip reaches out and puts his hand flat against Trevor’s chest. “You?”

Trevor takes his hand and holds it there. Philip can feel the beating of Trevor’s borrowed heart. His own.

“Us. And everyone we knew before. And everyone we know now.”

Philip laughs softly. “The only person I know now is an asshole.”

Trevor smiles, broad and looking like a sunrise. “Yeah, I’ve got quite a few of those. But some people are good. They’re trying to help.”

He reaches out, grabs the back of Philip’s neck and squeezes reassurance. “We’re doing good things here. We’re making things better.”

Philip mimics the gesture, winds his fingers back against Trevor’s neck, pulls him in until their foreheads touch.

He feels calmer, but still shaky, still on edge. “I think I need more,” he says softly. Ashamed. “They set me back. I still feel…”

He feels so weak. He hates it. He’s trained for this his whole life, got a rush of memories that he can recall like a search engine. And he’s got this chemical dependence he can’t shake. 

Trevor starts to pull away and Philip resists, drags him closer. 

“I’ll get you more,” Trevor whispers against his lips.

“Net yet,” Philip says, and he closes the gap. 

He’s half expecting Trevor to slide away, to tell him to stay on mission, but he doesn’t. His hands are back on Philip’s face and he kisses him, long and hard and desperate. He slides forward and down, sitting across Philip’s legs and breathes into his mouth like resuscitation. And maybe they both need it, maybe they both need more than the Director’s orders. 

“I’ve got you,” Trevor murmurs, hands sliding up under Philip’s shirt, finding the scar of his ill-fated gunshot wound, still tender, the sensitive curve of his rib cage, the divots between his bones where Trevor’s fingers fit. 

Philip shoves at Trevor’s shirt until he pulls it off, then tugs at his pants, uncoordinated. He’s high, but not high enough. He knows he needs more, whatever Trevor will give him, so he digs deeper, grips Trevor’s hips and pulls him down and forward, hard. 

Someone whimpers and it’s probably him. 

“Okay, it’s okay,” Trevor tells him, opening his jeans so Philip can get his hands inside, hands on Trevor where he’s already hard and leaking, making him hiss and jerk his hips. 

“You, too?” Trevor asks, and Philip nods frantically, working Trevor with single-minded determination, needing him to lose control, needing him to be just as fucked up as Philip is. 

Trevor gets Philip’s pants open about the time Philip gets him to come, a thin spurt across his shirt and hot on his hard dick. 

Trevor shivers and groans and then uses his own come to jerk Philip, a little rough, just the way he needs it. Just how he needs it to distract. 

He feels his eyes flutter shut as if he can stop the overload of sensation this way. He shudders, out of control, body tight and then— _let go_ —feels himself throbbing in Trevor’s hand, making a mess of them both. 

He’s boneless, still hungry, still craving, still empty.

“Okay?” Trevor asks him, soft. 

Philip nods slowly. “I think I’m okay for a little while.”

He glances down between them, the sticky mess they’ve made. Trevor is hard and red again. Maybe still. 

Philip quirks a smile. “You really are an overachiever.”

Trevor grins and pulls Phillp’s hand back. 

Philip pays more attention this time. The way Trevor shudders over him when he tightens his grip, the way his breath goes ragged when Philip slides his hand through the mess between them and uses it to slick his way. It doesn’t take much to get Trevor rocking into his fist and then going off again, hands tightening in his hair as warning. 

Trevor recovers first. Kisses Philip’s forehead and then bounces away and does up his pants.

Philip takes longer, craving and shaking and coming down from the way Trevor touched him. He’s still twitchy. Still needs it. 

“How long have you got?” Trevor asks. 

Philip swallows. “Half an hour?”

Trevor nods, cleans up the used needle, packs up the kit and puts it out of sight. Then he resumes his pacing around the garage. “My guidance counselor thinks I might be able to turn myself around. Get into college, even. Maybe I’ll go become a scientist, huh?”

Philip snorts. “Right. Maybe.”

“What about you?” Trevor turns to watch him. “What do you want to be?”

Philip shrugs. “Clean.”

Trevor tilts his head. “We’ll get you there. You know that. In the meantime you’ll just have to settle for important. How does ‘superhero’ strike you?”

“I don’t like spandex,” Philip says flatly. 

Trevor laughs, open and cheerful. Philip envies that joy. 

“I like you,” Trevor declares. 

And somehow, that’s the one thing Philip hadn’t expected to hear. Hadn’t known he needed. 

It’s always the small things, he thinks, looking at Emily and the plants he’d put in earth for her. It’s always the small things that really create a change. 

“Thanks,” he says, smiling softly.


End file.
